Olive

Thanksgiving day was my due date and Friday morning at about 1:30 am I got up to pee. On the way back from the bathroom, I felt a small gush. I looked at my underwear and it was wet and a little bloody. My mucus plug and possibly an amniotic fluid leak. I was relieved -- I was ready and eager to have this baby. I had been having about 5 or 6 contractions every night when I went to bed. But this was an unmistakeable sign -- we would have our baby soon. I was a little disappointed that we had passed Thanksgiving because both I and my mother were born on Thanksgiving day. But it was close enough.

I decided to take a shower before I called my midwife. I had been having a lot of rib pain and the shower really helped. I also knew that we had plenty of time to work with. I called her to alert her that we would be having a baby soon. Then I woke Jeff up. I told him that I needed to get some rest and would need his help. I needed to unfold the futon in the den and turn on the TV (TV puts me to sleep). I also needed him to rub my back. I'm an insomniac and broken water plus contractions, even weak ones, will keep me awake.

I did fall asleep for a while. My six-year old son, Sarky, usually wakes up around 6:30 and comes into our room to lie down with us for a while. This time, I woke up early and went to get him. He had been talking to the baby all week, asking it to come out. We had been joking about how the baby wasn't answering us. I told him the baby had finally decided to come. He was thrilled.

Sarky's plans that day were to spend the day at his friend's house. We decided that it was a good idea to stick with that plan. He wanted to be there for the birth but I knew he would get bored with labor. He understood how birth happened, but I knew he didn't really understand how long it would take. I told him that it takes a long time for the baby to come and that we would call him when the time was close. He liked that idea because he really wanted to go to his friend's house. He had been bored all week because I was too weak/tired/in pain to do much. So around 10:00 am, they picked him up.

I kept trying to rest. The contractions would start up and then stop. My midwife suggested around 12:00 pm that I needed to get some EPO capsules and blue and black cohosh ready. Of course, I didn't have these things on hand and had to send Jeff out for them.

Around 6:30, I checked back with the midwife. I was starting to have regular contractions again, but I wanted to try the herbs. She said she wanted to wait to see if they continued on their own. Same thing at 9:30. She still wanted me to try to rest. I was supposed to call her back at 1:30, but she told me not to wake up just to call. I did fall asleep that night. Jeff filled up the birthing tub while I was asleep. I woke up once in a while, but slept most of the night.

At around 6:30 am Saturday, I called my midwife again. She told me to get started on those herbs. By 10:00 I had given up on the rest and gone for a walk, which completely stopped the contractions. She decided to come over and see me.

She got there around 11:00 and did the normal blood pressure check and listened to the baby's heartbeat and felt the baby. Nitrazene confirmed the presence of amniotic fluid. She said she still had a few tricks up her sleeve to get labor going, but we did have to prepare for the possibility of going to the hospital and trying pitocin. I did NOT want to do this -- my first child was born that way and it was absolute hell. She didn't want to either. We sent Jeff out for castor oil and I drank the whole bottle, chasing it with Sprite. I had never ingested castor oil before -- it was horrible and I have a strong gag reflex. But I was willing to do just about anything to avoid pitocin and the hospital.

It was around 1:00 when I finished the castor oil. Jeff was really wiped out and G said she would hang out with me so he could take a nap. She said "I'm just going to listen to the baby again. Do you mind the doppler this time?" I said she could use the doppler and laid down.

Nothing. G tried all over my stomach. No detectable heartbeat. "But you just heard it." "I know. This isn't normal. I should be able to hear it easily. I'm going to try for just a few more seconds and then we need to go to the hospital. Which is the closest?" Ugh. The worst hospital in town was right around the corner. "Then we need to go there now. Let's go."

I was terrified. Everything would be okay, right? What was going to happen now? They would do an ultrasound and find the heartbeat and everything would be fine. I had had recurring visions that at the very end of this pregnancy the baby would die. It was a huge relief each time I heard a heartbeat throughout the pregnancy. I reminded myself how many times I had been relieved to hear it and that I was just being paranoid again.

At the hospital they wanted me to put on a gown and give them a urine sample. G told them that we needed to listen to the baby first. They did and could not find a heartbeat. They tried another doppler. "There!" G thought she heard something -- she winked at me. It was okay for a brief moment. But it wasn't okay. They said they were going to move me to another room "in case we need to help you get the baby out." And they ordered an ultrasound to confirm the absence of a heartbeat.

I knew the baby was gone. No one said anything -- except G when the others left the room. But no one had to tell me. I knew the baby was dead. How? It was okay just a few hours ago. The numbness that overtakes you in a crisis situation set in. I needed that numbness to remain calm. I knew what I was going to have to do now. I was going to have to birth a dead baby. In the hospital, not at home. I was probably going to have pitocin. There wasn't any point in an emergency cesearean.

Off to the "LDR" room. The doctor they had assigned to me ordered a pitocin drip immediately. But I got a small gift -- the nurse we got was also a CNM who was not just sympathetic to home birthers, she wanted to DO home births. She said she looks for people like us to come in, so they don't get stuck with the medical birth fanatics. Of course, we hadn't told anyone that we'd been planning a home birth or that G was our midwife. But this nurse figured it out. She told us that she wouldn't start the pit until after the ultrasound. She brought me juice and water -- even though this hospital frowns on more than ice chips.

It took two, maybe two and a half hours to get the ultrasound there. Like I said, this was the WORST hospital in town. While we were waiting, my contractions got regular and strong. I told the nurse that I didn't think I was going to need that pit and I was going to try it on my own. She agreed that it didn't look like I'd need it.

The ultrasound finally came and didn't tell us anything we didn't already know. The technician was pretty incompetent and had to find a radiologist to help her. Neither of them said anything to anyone but each other. I couldn't see the image, but Jeff could. They spend 10 or 15 minutes looking and I finally asked them what they were seeing. "I'm not seeing a heartbeat," said the radiologist. "I'm sorry for the unexpected outcome." I looked at Jeff, who was looking up, trying not to cry. "I'm so sorry," was all I could say. He had seen the image and had known the baby was dead.

They all left us alone. "You are a hero in my eyes," Jeff told me. "You've done so much for so long for this baby. Just for love." "What are we going to do?" I asked. "Let's just get through this day and not worry about what we are going to do in the future." I still had the
benefit of the numbness. It kept me from being overwhelmed at the situation. I was not going to be able to labor in water -- not even a shower at this hospital -- I'd have to do this on dry land. The only relief I would have would be massage and that wasn't helping much. And they wanted me to have pitocin, too. And they'd be pushing the drugs, since I didn't need to worry about affecting the baby. I actually began to wonder why I had to do this -- wouldn't it just be easier to let them cut me open and spare me the effort? Of course, I knew that would be even riskier for me and a lot to recover from, so I never seriously considered it. And my reward for all my effort was going to be a dead baby. Yes, the numbness was a blessing.

Okay, time for the pit battle. I was having strong, regular contractions. I told the nurse I didn't want it. She said she'd ask the doctor. I reminded her that even if he didn't agree, I had the right to say no. She said "That's right, you can still say no. But you never know -- when he ordered the pitocin, you weren't having any contractions. He might just agree that you don't need it." Well, he didn't. His reason was not wanting to take any chance with infection (where have we heard that before?). I looked at G. She said "I can understand that." I knew she wouldn't have agreed if there was no validity to his argument. And amniotic fluid had been leaking for longer than we had let on -- we had just told them "1:30 am" and hadn't mentioned that it was 24 hours earlier than they were assuming. We were also in the hospital -- a *great* place to get an infection if you want one. So I said okay. The nurse said she would only drip a little and that since I didn't really need it, they wouldn't be cruelly turning it up every 15 minutes like the last time. It did take her two tries to find a vein, though. And since my contractions were frequent (now 2-3 minutes apart and lasting a minute), we kept having to wait for the break.

The contractions hurt most in my pelvis and the pain spread down my legs. It was *really* hard to relax my legs and pelvis. G tried stroking my legs and it drove me *nuts*. It was extremely uncomfortable. Even back massage drove me crazy, so I mostly had to do all the relaxation by myself. No one was really able to help me. They tried, but nothing really worked. I spent the next few hours having contraction after contraction. It seemed like a very short time, actually, because they were really right on top of each other. They were finally coming in groups of five or six with no break in between. I began to feel like I really couldn't take any more. "Okay, this is transition," I thought. I asked G "Do they really have to be right on top of each other?" "Yes, if you're where I think you are, they do." "Okay, I was right. This is transition. I can push soon. I think I can make it." I wasn't able to talk much.

The great nurse's shift had ended and the new one was here. Not the greatest and not the worst. Jeff did not like her at all. She suggested drugs. She said she didn't see any reason not to take them in this situation. I began to consider it. I told G that I was considering it because it was getting *really hard* to relax. She said that I could make up my own mind, but that she didn't want me groggy when the baby got here. Oh yeah, the dead baby that I didn't want to see and that everyone was going to want me to hold. But what really held my resolve was when she reminded me that the narcotics would not really make the contractions less painful -- they would just change the way I responded. I remembered that from the last time -- the contractions hurt just as much after the drugs, but I was a zombie and looked more comfortable to those around me. And I did *not* want an epidural.

Oh, yeah, and the nurse didn't want me drinking any more water or juice. She asked (at least she *asked*) me if I could stick to ice chips from here on out because "sometimes you get that retained-placenta thing." I didn't *want* the juice and honestly don't see the difference between water and ice, so I agreed. Can someone explain to me why hospitals think that it's okay for you to ingest frozen water but not liquid?

The nurse checked my dilation. 6 or 7 centimeters. But she accidently broke the bag, too. There was heavy meconium. The leak I had been having was a slow, high leak and had no meconium. As soon as that bag broke, I knew I'd be pushing in two contractions. And it got impossible to stay on my side. I got on my hands and knees and had another contraction. It was a little more bearable that way. Then the next one and sure enough -- there was the urge to push. "I need to push!" I told G -- and I did push. She told the nurse that I was ready to push.

The nurse said I couldn't push on my hands and knees and that I had to get back on my back. She also wanted to check my dilation again and wanted me on my back for that. I refused and said she could check this way. I said there was NO WAY I was turning back over. Then I got another contraction and suddenly I DID want to turn over. Don't ask why I felt more comfortable that way, but I did. I guess it probably made them happy, but I did it for ME. Her check confirmed that I was ready to push -- like I couldn't tell! They turned the pitocin off. It hadn't been that bad this time, but I was glad to *know* that it was off.

I was dimly aware that the nurse was telling me not to push. I remember her saying "You're pushing, sweetie, I can tell. Don't push." "I am pushing. I need to push," I responded. I wouldn't have obeyed anyway, but I wondered if they were really telling me I couldn't push until the doctor got there. Surely they weren't *that* barbaric. I just kept right on pushing with each contraction. G said "Just do what your body is telling you to do." "I am."

Well, I did my best to push that baby out before the doctor got there. But he did show up and did his best to take control. His first question was "What diseases have you had?" "What *diseases*? None." I was bewildered at the question. They started breaking apart the bed and G asked if that was really necessary. Oh, yes, they needed my feet in those stirrups. We put the back of the bed up so that I wouldn't be flat on my back, which was what these ghouls wanted! They draped my legs and stomach. They told me to lift up my pelvis so that they could slide a pad under me. I couldn't do it. "You have to!" screamed the gOBlin.

Then he reached for something. "Oh, no, she doesn't want an episiotomy." G told him. "Well, we do one if we think it is necessary." "No, you will *not* do one. I have the right to say no," I said. "That is not the way we practice medicine! If I had known this thing, I would have told you to pick another doctor!" was his indignant reply. I was not able to talk much at that point, so instead of "You are welcome to leave, I don't need your help," I said again "I have the right to say no and I'm saying no." "And if you rupture, then what am I supposed to do?" he asked. "You're supposed to sew me up, your cluelessness," I thought, but once again only had the strength to say "I *have* the right to say no." "Look, we are trying to have a positive birth experience here," said Jeff. I couldn't talk, but I thought "Yes. Our baby is dead and we are trying to birth her with as much dignity as possible."

I really can't remember him saying anything else to me. I pushed and pushed. The gOBlin had given me local anesthetic last time, so I'd never really felt unmedicated pushing. I began to *really* feel the head and wonder if it was really as far out as I thought. I felt the "ring of fire," which wasn't as unbearable as I thought it would be. But now the gOBlin -- oh, hell, let's just call him Satan from now on -- was stretching my vaginal opening. "Stop doing that!" I begged him, but he ignored me. G was grimacing.

Then I felt the head pop out. Wow! Up until then, I didn't have complete faith in my ability to push a head out of my body. But I had done it. The hard part was over. I pushed some more -- one of the shoulders was stuck, but I got it unstuck with a few more pushes. Then Satan began pulling the baby out of me -- at a downward angle, which hurt because the angle of the vagina is upward. "Stop pulling in that direction! Stop doing that!" Satan ignored me again. I pushed again and the baby was out. I did it! "I did it!" I said. I was so relieved! In the worst possible situation, I had an unmedicated childbirth and had maintained my dignity.

Okay, so the baby is out and what do you think Satan said? Did he announce the sex or congratulate me for all my work in the face of a hellish situation? Nope, he said "And that's what kills a baby. One, two, three, four loops. Two around the neck, two around the body." I'm thankful for the numbness, because that didn't make me collapse into tears until later.

The placenta came out easily. He asked for a local and I asked him why. "You tore and I'm going to stich you up." My old episiotomy had torn, "just like a zipper," said G. Wow. Tearing sounds so scary -- it strikes fear into so many of us. I hadn't felt a thing. Then he got pissed because he didn't see any suture and made a sarcastic remark to the nurse. The local injections weren't painful and neither was the sewing, but it seemed to take a long time. I did feel some of the stiching and told him. He said "You shouldn't feel this." "Well, I did. Felt that too." "Fine, I'll give you more, but I don't know which is more painful -- the local or the stiches."

While he was stiching, G asked Jeff if he had seen what we had. He nodded and said "Yeah, a boy." "Nope, it's a girl," she told him. I looked at Jeff and we both said "A girl." "And I wanted a girl so much," he said. I finally did what I had been dreading -- I looked at her. "She looks so big and healthy," I said. "You took very good care of her," Jeff told me.

And what were Satan's parting remarks to me? "You did very well. But I still prefer to stitch up a clean incision to a ragged tear." Like I gave a damn what he preferred. The nurse gushed, though. "I am SO proud of you! I have NEVER seen anyone do that. I'm in awe!"

Then G asked if I was ready to hold her. Oh, God, no. Now I have to look at my dead baby's face and hold her lifeless body and I DON'T WANT TO! I just want to fast forward to the next birth, the one that will end happily. But everyone wants me to do this and I feel like I have to. She handed me the baby and everyone left me and Jeff alone.

I looked at her face. Her lips were purple, but she looked like a normal sleeping baby. "I'm so sorry. We wanted you *so* much. You didn't deserve this." I don't really clearly remember what I said out loud and what I just thought. Mostly I just looked at her. I imagined what it would have been like to have her alive at this moment. I reminded myself that I'd brought her into the world with dignity and love. "What should we name her?" I asked. We had only really agreed on one name throughout the pregnancy. "Do you want to name her Olive?" he asked. "Yes." "Then let's name her Olive." I handed her to Jeff and he held her, too. He didn't say anything out loud, he just looked at her. After a while he told me he was finished saying hello and goodbye and asked if I wanted to hold her again. I was finished, too. We are both so glad that we did hold her. It validated her life for us.

I wanted to leave the hospital right then and go home. I talked to G about it and she gave me advice about how to handle them. But I just didn't have the energy for the fight at that moment. The next morning I did sign myself out A.M.A. They wanted me to stay at least until 3:00 or 4:00 the next day. I knew that I was fine -- I didn't have any drugs to recover from. And I needed to be with Sarky and tell him what happened.  All he knew was that I'd had a tough time and had to go to the hospital.

It has taken me four days to write this story. My milk is beginning to dry up -- my breasts are not as engorged as they were yesterday. This is my final physical hurdle to get over.

So, that is the story of Olive. I'm not going to try to remember verbatim what Heather wrote on the Birth Stories page, but it was something like "Birth is primal and unpredictable. Not all birth stories end happily." I am proud that I was able to bring her into the world with dignity. I am proud that I took care of her. Jeff is grateful that her whole life she only knew love. We are starting down the road to the rest of our lives without her. We are grateful that all the changes we made in our lives for her sake are now allowing us to grieve without financial pressure adding to our pain. But I'd give up all that and be a spineless, wimpy sheeple and bow down to Satan (the gOBlin) to have her back. We get angry when people say "At least you have a healthy baby," when we relate our hospital horror birth stories. But if my next birth experience is in a sucky, barbaric hospital, I *will* be grateful if I walk out the door with a baby.

~ Lynne